


You're a Good Man, Daryl Dixon

by supreme_genius



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supreme_genius/pseuds/supreme_genius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl and Carol find solace in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're a Good Man, Daryl Dixon

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the Walking Dead.  
> My first venture in writing for this fandom.

He walked to his tent, freshly relieved from watch duty. He passed hers, as he did every night – she’d gradually moved her tent closer and closer. The weather was warm, so the opening to her tent was partially unzipped. He peaked in, checking on her. She lay there, sleeping bag unzipped and spread out, wearing just a camisole and shorts. She looked so peaceful, beautiful when she slept – it was like the horrors of the day were gone, if only just for a few hours.

He crouched down outside her tent, his guilt weighing heavily on him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He looked around, making sure no one was in earshot. “I should have saved her, should have brought her back to you. I was so close…” He’d never been an emotional person, never had any attachments. He didn’t really know why he’d gotten so attached to this woman and her daughter. Maybe he was drawn to her because she, like he, was damaged, broken.

                “Daryl…?”

                “Shit.” He jumped up and made a b-line for his tent.

                Of course she knew it was him; she wasn’t really asleep. Besides, who else was as committed to searching for Sophia than Daryl was? She was angry and upset and just this side of numb, but it wasn’t his fault. She’d never really thanked him for what he did – she didn’t know how. She sighed and dug through her bag, pulling out one of the books she’d taken from the CDC. It was a romance novel, but not one of those cheesy ones with the hunky guy on the front. It was the kind of romance you could find in real life – two people, with enough emotional baggage to fill a U-HAUL truck, who meet, become friends, and fall in love. It wasn’t the book that brought her comfort so much as what was pressed inside. She’d kept the Cherokee rose he brought to her – the one he swore bloomed for Sophia. It brought her a hint of solace when she needed it.

                She poked her head out of her tent; no one was out of their tents, except Rick up on the RV. She quietly climbed out and made her way over to Daryl’s tent. She leaned down, not saying anything right away – nerves. She took a deep breath.

                “…Daryl…” she whispered, poking at the tent.

                There was shuffling inside the tent. He unzipped it just enough to see who it was. “What?”

                “C-can I talk to you?”

                “In the morning.”

                “Daryl!” She raised her tone but still kept her voice at a whisper.

                He unzipped the tent all the way, admitting her entrance. She zipped it back up behind her. He huffed when she sat down next to him, too close in his opinion. His brows were furrowed, normal, grumpy look on his face.

                “You were outside my tent just now.”

                He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at her, just stared at the ground.

                “I know you were and I heard what you said.”

                He looked up at her but still didn’t say anything.

                “It’s not your fault. We don’t know how long she was in that barn. You tried you best, I know you did…and I never really thanked you.” She paused for a second, collecting her thoughts. “Thank you, Daryl. You’ve done more for me in this short time than my husband ever did in all the years we were married. You’re a good man, Daryl Dixon, and don’t you ever let anyone tell you any different.”

                “Why aren’t you mad? Why aren’t you upset? That was your little girl?”

                “I am mad and I am upset. In another time and place I’d probably show it. You know what kind of world we live in now. She was never safe and now she’s out of this hell. I-I don’t…” She shook her head, not really knowing what exactly to say. “Good night.” She went to get up, but he reached out and grabbed her hand.

                He wasn’t rough, wasn’t pushy, wasn’t typical Daryl Dixon – well, the person they all thought he was. He wouldn’t admit it, but somewhere deep inside him was a soft spot. She sat back down, her hand still in his. He lifted his other hand to her face – for once she didn’t flinch – and caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. She’d yearned for this kind of intimacy for far too long.

                “No man should ever put his hands on you – or any woman – the way he did. You don’t deserve that.” He leaned over and planted a light kiss on the side of her neck. He pulled her close, enjoying the warmth – despite the sticky heat outside.

                When their lips met, it was like everything else disappeared. They weren’t camping in tents, sleeping with one eye open as not to be eaten alive by the undead; it was just them. She’d been timid her entire life, but the way she felt with him…it was like she was a new person. She ran her hands over his chest, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. His breath hitched, it’d been a long time since he’d felt such a gentle touch. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he laid back, pulling her with him. She reached the last button of his shirt, than ran her hands over bare skin. He worked his hands underneath her camisole, caressing up and down her sides. He could feel her ribs – she was lean when they met, but the serious lack of food was getting to her. He made a mental note to catch and extra squirrel or two, maybe a rabbit if he could manage.

                She raised her arms, letting him pull off her top, revealing her bare chest. He sat up and she pushed his shirt off his shoulders. She traced a light finger over the scars on his chest. She was curious, but wouldn’t ask – if he wanted her to know, he’d tell her. She didn’t want to even imagine what could have made scars like that. She had her own, that was for sure, but none were that brutal. She bent her neck and littered his chest with kisses. She moved up to his neck, and then returned to his lips. Her hands were a little shaky as she unbuttoned his jeans. He rolled them over, his hands on either side of her shoulders. She ran her hands over his arms – he was so strong, so powerful, but she couldn’t imagine him using it like her husband had.

                He slipped out of his jeans, and then went to work on her shorts. He kissed her jaw, down her neck, across her chest. He made his way down her stomach, kisses lighter than air. He undid the button and pulled down the zipper, at the same time pressing a kiss to a scar on her hip bone. She arched her back, letting him tug off her shorts. He ran a hand up one thigh and down the other, eliciting a soft moan. She looked up at him, heavy-lidded, and slipped a hand under his boxers. He did his best to stifle a moan. She pulled back her hand and tugged at the waistband of his boxers. He wiggled out of them and she took advantage of the moment to take off her own panties.

                There was a sort of nervousness about her – she wasn’t afraid, though. He raised a questioning eyebrow and asked if she was ok, telling her he’d stop if she didn’t want it. She shook her head. She asked about a condom – she didn’t want to end up like Lori: pregnant and on the run from walkers. He shook his head. He told her it’d be ok; a sad look worked its way to his face. He couldn’t have kids. She kissed him on the cheek, soft and sweet, and ran a hand through his messy hair. The comfort he’d come to find in her – and she in him – was undeniable. For her, it was like she could finally breathe.

                Their lips met once again, his tongue begged for entrance; she parts her lips for him. As their tongues dance, his hands explore her body. Rough calloused hands move gently about her silky skin. He had the hands of a working man – she liked that. He situated himself between her legs and looked to her. She nodded and he pushed into her. A small gasp escaped her lips. He kissed her, softly, gently. She felt more intimacy now – in this tent, in this short time with him – than she had her entire life.

                Their bodies moved together, trying to find a steady rhythm. They started moving in sync and he sped up his thrusts. She bit her lip, doing her best to stifle her moans. He kissed her neck and nipped at her collar bones, trying to hold back his own moans. She fisted her hands in the sleeping bag beneath her; she was so close. It felt so good to let go, she thought. She brought the corner of the sleeping bag to her mouth and bit down to keep from screaming out his name. He buried his face in the crook of his arm, barely hushing his groan.

                They laid in his tent together for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Their bodies, still naked, were covered in a thin layer of sweat. He caressed her cheek with one hand before kissing her. He held her close. She smiled at him; for the first time in a long, long time she really, truly smiled – so did he.

                “I should probably get back to my tent soon.”

                He shook his head.

                “It’s almost light out – everyone’ll be getting up.”

                “I don’t care. Let ‘em catch us.”

                She smiled. She didn’t want to leave; she wanted to spend the day lying in the tent with him, kissing, touching, loving. She couldn’t – she knew that and so did he. She slipped back into her clothes and gave him one last kiss. She unzipped the tent, crawled out, and zipped it back up behind her. She crept over to her own tent and laid inside, waiting for everyone to get up. As the rest of the group started emerging from their tents, they were none the wiser of the lovers. She got up before he did and went about her day – mostly taking care of laundry. He went about his day – taking his turn on top of the RV as look out and then chopping wood. The walkers were still out there – they still lived in this shitty world – but for them, it wasn’t so bad anymore…they had found something – love, maybe – that they wouldn’t have found otherwise.


End file.
